Fixed :)

I remember I printed this "poem" out for something. I remember I ripped it up. I remember I found it again on this old computer. For the only one remembers, here is a raggedy poem for you. You can also say that it is not a poem. Either way, it was written in shame.

The old woman sat in the back porch,
Waiting, during a summer day.

As usual,
It perched upon her shoulder.
Cooed and chirped and sang
For those little crumbs of bread.
It had taken a slight interest
In the yarns and threads,
That she wove
Everyday.

But, on one summer day,
The old woman waited,
Just the same.
There was no sign of
The dove.

So summer
Came
And
Went,
Blossomed
And
Fallen,
Aroused 
And
Faded,
And
Came
And
Went.

Though, she still waited
Everyday.
Then, on one summer day,
A crow came and perched and chirped on that old back porch.
It waited for that old woman.
She never came.
It flew,
Flew,
Flew,
And flew, and I guess,
The only thing left was a piece of yarn in that back porch,
Left to sway with the same summer breeze.